Frost on Her Fingers and Fire in Her Heart
by Annabeth's Sister
Summary: Elsa is not alone. And she and the other one cannot coexist for much longer.
1. Prologue

**_READ THE FIRST AND LAST PARAGRAPH PLEASE. THEY ARE BOTH SUPER IMPORTANT._  
**

**_HERE:_ This is my first Frozen fanfic, but I wanted resonance in the summary, so I didn't taint the summary with stupid stuff like this is rated T for lots of violence and malice and creepy angsty messed up shit, and it's NOT Elsanna, and Anna's not really the main character, but she's still hella important. Kristanna is only an undertone; this is mostly an Elsa-centric fic. Plus an OC that I am NOT pairing Elsa with, because the OC is a fricking _girl_. And I'm _not_ making Elsa lesbian. I'm keeping this as fricking similar to Frozen ship-wise as possible. So yeah. ELSANNA SHIPPERS WILL BE SAD. GO AWAY IF YOU'RE AN ELSANNA SHIPPER AND YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SAD BECAUSE THERE IS NO ELSANNA IT'S ONLY KRISTANNA. **

**Nice change from the Percabeth I normally write, eh? No? Frozen?**

**_I'm sorry I'm not sorry I'm sorry I'm not sorry I'm sorry I'm not sorry I'm sorry NO WAY I'M TOTALLY NOT SORRY_ I've already sunk too deep into the fandom to get out (imagine a metaphorical snowbank— now I've fallen into it and Kristoff's not helping me out…)**

**_AND HERE_: This has actually got multiple chapters and I'm actually planning this fic out, and it's actually got a plot, unlike the mindless fluff I normally write. So be prepared for gut-wrenching, be prepared for cliffhangers, be prepared to scream, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS YOU'RE SO STUPID YOU EVIL CHARACTER— DON'T YOU SEE THAT THIS IS WRONG?" be prepared for refreshing until you can't stop, waiting for my updates, and be prepared for ME TO UPDATE LITERALLY ONCE EVERY MONTH. (I'll try to write as much as I can and queue them for every week, but I might lag behind— but if I miss a few weeks I'll be nice and give extra chapters to you if I can. BUT BEAR WITH ME.)**

**So… here goes nothing.**

—

_Prologue_

**Her Escape Is Still Destructive But It Is Still Beautiful**

She freezes the lock in anger, gritting her teeth and shoving her hands frustratedly into her hair. The guards still stand stoically around her cell— they never seem to sleep.

But finally, she catches one unawares as she manipulates the small breeze fluttering in through her window— the key gently floats towards her, and she grins in triumph. Her captors shouldn't have let their guard down— she would never give up.

Now she has the key in her hands, and she is free.

She twists the rusted metal key into the lock, and she almost flies when she sees the lock pop open. She has never seen the fresh air— never seen the full extent of her powers. She cannot wait to find out.

Though a guard lets out a warning exclamation, she quickly silences him with a bolt of fire to his chest. He is dead before he hits the ground, his shirt charred, his face frozen into wide eyes.

Soon, all the other guards have met the same fate, and now the girl is outside, in the cold winter air. Her breath puffs out as white clouds in the cold— she lifts her hand and one solidifies— but she throws it to the ground, watching in glee as it shatters, into a million tiny pieces.

She looks at the ground below her, and sees small sprouts, curling up her feet, as if to encase her, but she knows she is in control— she has her powers reserved for her own revenge, and the green shoots retreat.

She grins. _She has c__ontrol in her __anger._

It's time for her to see how far her powers go— her small stone cell never helped her see much. Though she did almost escape, once, by bending the iron bars of her cell with her fingers, she does not know how powerful she actually is— and she wants to see it.

So wind churns as the girl raises her arms higher in the air— rocks around her quiver and explode, fire blazes over her palms. The sea crashes against the shore, and when she curls her fingers, lifting her hands higher, small, branchy trees shoot up beside her. She grins maniacally, but she throws her hands down at the same time, causing everything to stop, in a sudden rush. The trees tremble, and the wind settles. The ocean laps gently, and her fire is gone.

She grumbles to herself "I've got to get out of here, I've got to find him," and she throws on her cloak, willing the water at the shore to harden, and she places a foot on the water that still churns, but supports her weight— and she runs across the surface. The winds that she controls blow over her. Before she knows it, each step sends her soaring for more than physically possible— she is at the farthest kingdom in an instant.

_Arendelle_.

She's found her destination.

Trying not to alert any civilians of her presence (or of her powers), she dashes to the shore, pointing at the water so that it returns to a free-flowing fjord.

The entire calm kingdom of Arendelle is peacefully asleep, excepting one troubled teenager and another troubled queen.

—

**And there you have it, folks. I'll probably be posting these once a week, if I can. Be gracious, because I don't have much access to screens, let alone to type up a 1000-2000 word chapter every weekend. My parents barely know about this, and I don't want them finding out, because then all of this will stop forever… D:**

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 1— Population: 2876 Plus 1

I MADE SOME EDITS, SO REREAD, MAYBE? IF ANYONE EVEN READ IT?

Chapter 1

Population: 2876 + 1

* * *

Elsa sits up in bed, suddenly, as her dream shudders to a stop. There's frost curled around her fingers, and she breathes out puffs of cold air. The dream had been so peculiar… swooping images of birds and snow and water and Anna and cold and—

Elsa shakes her head as the frost starts slowly seeping up her arms— she rubs at it furiously— no losing control today.

She can't shake the odd feeling that something is very, very, very wrong.

. . .

"Anna?" she asks, pushing her sister's shoulder a bit.

"What?" she grumbles, turning over in her bed. Her hair is unkempt, drool dribbling from her chin (Elsa almost laughs, except for the nauseating uncertainty that plagues her thoughts). As an excuse, Elsa mutters, "what was it about the sky being awake and you being awake?" and Anna grumbles again, sitting up.

"The sky isn't even awake!" she complains, pointing to the window that is covered by a curtain, so Elsa throws a bolt of ice at it, cutting it off, as the sunlight blindingly seeps through the window— Anna groans, flopping back onto the bed.

"Fine!" she exclaims. "I don't have to be awake when the sky's awake, fine!"

"Anna," Elsa says, "I had a nightmare. Can you please wake up?"

One eye opens. "Get Kristoff. Then I will."

. . .

"I don't know when you became the royal waker-upper," Kristoff grumbles, after Elsa tells him that she tried to wake up Anna and Anna told her to wake him up— he still smiles softly and sits up, stretching, slowly standing.

"And Anna wanted me here to help her help you out with a nightmare?"

"I think she just wants an excuse for you to be with her." Elsa smiles, and

Kristoff blushes, giving a sheepish smile.

"I never thought anyone would need an excuse to be with me," he murmurs. "Oh, 'cept for Sven, of course. He's always needed to be with me."

Elsa sits down next to him and gently places a hand on his pudgy fist, but retracts it when he flinches from the cold. She frowns gently, looking worriedly down at her hand— the frost's supposed to be gone, why isn't it?

But she rests her hand instead on his covered knee gently, gently explaining to Kristoff that Anna really loves him, and he doesn't need to think no one cares about him, and he smiles at her gently, happily— (and he's thinking about Anna, and there's this lovesick-puppy look on his face that makes Elsa glad that she can reassure people this way— especially when she often needed that reassurance herself.)

Kristoff snaps from his daze, looking at Elsa and standing, lowering his hand towards her.

"I thought I was supposed to be helping Anna help you with a nightmare," he says, and Elsa chuckles, taking his outstretched hand— but she flinches away because she can see the tendrils of powdered snowy mist on her knuckles. Kristoff still clutches her hand more tightly, refusing to let her move away.

"I'm used to it," he says. "And you've got to stop being afraid."

(they forget to discuss her nightmare)

. . .

"Wait, you want to go ice-skating? On the first day that the snow's all melted? Why today, of all days?" Kristoff's staring at Anna in confusion, but Anna shakes her head, ignoring Kristoff, instead talking to Elsa.

"Elsa, I'd never thought of it until today, anyways. Let's go, seriously."

Elsa groans, threading her hands through her hair, but she pulls at the ends of her braid and sighs. "Fine. Let's go."

"Ooh, yay!" Anna says, wrapping her arms tight around Elsa, and Elsa flinches— will Anna feel the ice powers? But Anna doesn't seem to notice, and she backs away, shouting "Let's go, Kristoff! You too, Elsa!"

Elsa's suddenly got this throbbing feeling in her head, so she tells Anna she'll be right out.

. . .

She paces around her room, holding her temples, as the rushing sensation in her ears grows worse. She grumbles, holding her head tightly— the inside is blistering in white-hot pain— but for some reason, it's so cold; she's never been this cold in her life, it's covering her body, in invisible, under-her-skin frost.

She can't hear her own scream, high up in the castle walls, louder than the ringing in her ears, and now everything's burning like flames over her body, but the flames are cold.

With a small fear whispering, behind her haze of pain, Elsa watches streams of ice shoot out from under her feet as she rips her throat with the intensity of her yells— the tendrils of ice shoot like fire over the floor, extending over everything; the spare bed, the spare dresser, the doors.

As Elsa numbly surveys her damage, the pain slowly ebbs, leaving her curled up on the floor, knees to her chest, rocking back and forth on her heels, breathing rapidly.

That second, there's a knock.

"Elsa?" Anna says. "Why are you here?"

Elsa uses a moment to to recover, and she whispers, "I'm okay."

"What are you doing behind the door? Why is it locked?"

Elsa doesn't say anything— just holds her forehead, taking shaky breaths. The pain is still there— it's been there since this morning, she realizes. She stumbles to a stand, walking carefully across the icy floor, using the wall and different furniture as support, because her legs feel like jelly— too weak to support her weight.

She reaches the door, where Anna is standing on the other side— it brings back too many memories, of building snowmen and fear and tears and Mother and Father and dead and pain, but she holds her hand to the door, resting her throbbing head on it, her eyes squeezed shut, her face contorting into almost a sob— she shakes her head, blindly, burying her face on her hand, taking deep breaths.

"I'm fine, Anna. Give me— give me a minute. Go down. It's okay."

Anna's whispering on the other side. "You're sure you're okay?"

And the pain is almost gone but the same anxiety is back, seeping like ice through Elsa's veins— she turns her head and her gaze sweeps over the room, completely encased in ice. "Yeah, I'm… I'm sure. Just… give me a bit."

And Anna's reluctant, Elsa can hear it in her slow tread, but she slowly slips her hand from the door and pads down the staircases. Elsa stumbles over to the window on the other side of the room, and she looks out carefully— only when she sees Anna bound out of the castle gates does she try to get out, try to see her powers.

She opens the door, her knees still weak, feeling as if she hasn't gotten any sleep— it's a hollowness, in her chest, stomach, and her legs— she touches the doorknob, on the outside, and ice seeps over it. She gasps.

. . .

But later, after a difficult climb down the stairs and out of the gates, Elsa's recovered and she throws out her hand, freezing the small lake inside the city— Anna squeals and pulls Kristoff with her onto the ice— they're not even wearing skates.

Elsa chuckles as Anna slips and slides and falls onto Kristoff with a shriek— he cries out as the two of them tumble to the ground; Elsa quickly conjures up some snow beneath the two of them— Kristoff's falling face-first and he needs some cushion.

Though she's chuckling, her gut tingles. Something feels wrong, still. It's different, different from before the ice-skating. Like… like someone's here. And she's forgotten, forgotten about her lack of control because she is so occupied with the anxiety and the ice in her body, so she doesn't notice the frost spreading under her feet as she watches but still doesn't watch Anna and Kristoff laughing and trying to stand on the slippery ice, stuck in a daydream, thinking nothing but why is everything so wrong?

Unconsciously, her gaze flits around, suspicious and cautious, but Anna shouts something, snapping Elsa out of her reverie. Anna's wobbling on her feet as Kristoff moans, still flat on the ice.

"I think we need skates," Anna says, shrugging at Elsa with a sheepish smile. Elsa rolls her eyes.

. . .

"You ready to go?" The Queen's sister says, and The Queen nods. Her face is contorted into an awkward half-grimace, half smile.

"Yes, let's go back in, I've got important matters to attend to," she says, looking sideways at her arms that she has hidden behind her back— the frost slowly seeps up the sleeves.

"You walk ahead of me, I'll be looking around— overseeing the kingdom as best as I can," she almost gestures around with her hand but seems to remember the problem. Her sister's suitor looks at her a bit oddly, but the sister is unsuspecting as she pulls her beloved excitedly towards the castle.

As soon as they are out of sight, The Queen turns towards the lake, looking at the now-melted water and then at her hands. (She's remembered about the power.) She stares carefully at it, and almost as if to prove something to herself, she thrusts out her hand and freezes it, in an instant. Then she slowly raises her hand, and the ice rises and explodes into small bits of snow, fluttering down. She repeats the action once, twice, thrice— almost as if she wants to prove something, to someone.

The girl shrinks back when The Queen's gaze sweeps suspiciously over the area— as if she can sense her. The girl watches, as the queen lifts the ice, puts it back, lifts it, puts it back, then lifts it again, looking at her hands triumphantly, as if she's achieved something, a battle raging in her expressive eyes.

From a hidden corner, silently, the girl watches, wide-eyed at The Queen's astonishing display— she stares at her own hand, silently willing the snow to dance from her pale fingers. She curls her fingers, moving them, and the fluttering flakes gently fly in the wind. She thinks about The Queen. Watches the snow growing on her fingertips. Notices that it's not frost, spreading over her knuckles, not like The Queen. And she gazes, trance-like, at her hand; at the snow glittering above her palm.

She holds her arms out, the same way the queen had.

She looks at the lake.

She freezes it.


	3. Chapter 2 (Title Inside)

Chapter 2

Sudden Appearances of Foreign Powers Makes Familiar Hearts Beat Faster

* * *

Elsa gasps, knitting her eyebrows in frustrated concentration— she extends her hands, focuses. A white mist of snow escapes from her palms— it fizzes— nothing else.

She strains, her muscles in her hands clenching, but the thick jet of blue energy does not burst from her fingers— the icy power she has always had flowing through her veins smoothly comes in short jagged bursts, abrupt waves throughout her body.

Elsa huffs in frustration, throwing her hands in resign, to the ground, but at that instant the icy blue power she has been looking for for the past hour escapes from her fingers, and she shrieks as the ice spreads over her bedroom floor, completely covering it— where has her control disappeared to? She has her family now, she has Anna and Kristoff and Olaf and even Sven, too, technically— she feels the love undulating through her, at all times, but there is still no control, she is a danger once more!

But she isn't; she can't be. She's in control now, she is.

And Anna has to choose that exact moment, with Elsa's room's floor frozen over, to barge in, almost slipping on the ice rink of Elsa's bedroom, but she clumsily catches a couch with slips and slides, her feet splaying out on all sides, and beneath her.

So she shoots a grin at Elsa (who hides her frosted hands behind her back and gives Anna a silly smile.)

"I was going to come up and say that Kristoff wants to go look for ice to harvest, all they way up on the North Mountain, and apparently he wants me to get your permission to go up with him, but really I think he wants me not to go because he's worried about me, which is really sweet but I've done this before—" she starts stumbling away, murmuring "I've got permission, right?" and Elsa nods with a smile, as Anna slips away.

When Anna's gone, Elsa pulls her hands out from where they have frozen her dress entirely in the back from the contact— she didn't tell Anna; and she grumbles to herself, wishing she did then praising herself because she didn't.

(She should really take Anna's suggestion about those 'ice-dresses' to heart— with the frozen cloth and all. It'll help avoid accidents like the frozen-in-the-back thing. What if this happened at a party?)

. . .

She softly hums to herself, "_Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know— well now they know_," to herself, tying her hair up at the same time, and out of instinct, Elsa almost reaches for the spare gloves in her drawer— her hand freezes in midair and she stops herself. She doesn't need them.

. . .

As soon as Anna and Kristoff are back from their ice-harvesting trip, Elsa orders the gates closed, offering some lame excuse that Kristoff doesn't buy and Anna barely does.

At dinner, Elsa notices Kristoff's gaze freeze directly on her icy hands and her frosted utensils (they're touching her fingers), but she widens her eyes in a _no telling anyone_ look, motioning especially towards Anna.

. . .

The girl grumbles, hungry and cold, so she sits in her little corner of the village and watches the fire dances along her fingers— her body blazes suddenly in warmth.

Then she thinks of The Queen— lifts the other hand and puts out the flames with a jet of water, freezing the water droplets in midair— but she's cold again.

(Her fire pops back.)

(She needs a way in the castle.)

(She needs a way to The Queen.)

(The Queen is like _her_.)

* * *

**Sorry this one is so short! (Just saying, chapter 1's been on my tumblr since last week— so if you want to read the chapters ahead of time, feel free on my tumblr! :D**


End file.
